A Thunderstorm In Town
by Sir Gawaine
Summary: 'She wore a 'terra-cotta' dress/ And we stayed, because of the pelting storm/ Within the hansom's dry recess...' Set sometime in early series five, a little moment on the hottest day of the year.


**A/N – This is my first Spooks fanfiction, inspired by the recent hot weather and a re-discovered poem by my all-time fave King Of Angst, Thomas Hardy. It was so Harry and Ruth that I simply couldn't think about anything else until it was done. **

**Set sometime in early season five, I think. **

When the hot weather eventually broke, after weeks and weeks of high temperatures and sleepless nights, Harry was rather more than grateful. Heat made London lethargic, long days that stretched into even longer nights, turning the city into a slow-moving, bloated, useless thing for anyone trying to get a job done.

It did funny things to people, putting the usually affable and gentle Malcolm in so foul a mood that only Colin and Ruth dared to approach him. It put Ros in an equally disturbing cheerful state of mind. Adam couldn't sleep, said it reminded him of times he would rather forget, Zaf hoped it would never end…Harry had heard it all over the past few weeks and he had had enough. The thunderstorm was a welcome break.

He was in his car when it happened, in the back seat with Ruth. They were being driven away from a black-tie event at the Ukrainian embassy, one which Adam had been quick to decide needed to be attended by someone older than himself or Zaf.

"Sirko is one of the big business types, Harry, you know. A traditionalist. Staunchly Catholic. We need to send in someone who he sees as an equal. He'll never take me or Zaf seriously enough."

It was only when Adam insisted Ruth go too, to complete the cover, that Harry felt infinitely more optimistic about the whole evening. She was becoming very dear to him, he had recently discovered, a feeling he had not experienced for a very long time. What was even more alarming was that he currently felt no urgent need to get her into his bed, no urgent need to simply get her out of his system. He dared not to consider what that might mean.

She sat close to him in the car, closer than she needed to in the expansive back-seat, and he watched her from the corner of his eye. One of his favourite things about summer, he had discovered, was the sudden change to Ruth's wardrobe. Her normally sensible, dark clothing was replaced by something a little more daring and colourful – not too daring, that wouldn't be Ruth – but a little brighter, a little more open. Tonight she was wearing a dress of a burnt terracotta colour. It suited her dark features. She'd opened her front door a little sheepishly when he called for her at the start of the evening, as though she wasn't sure she could wear such a thing. Before he could stop himself, Harry had rebuked any fear she might have.

"My goodness, Ruth…you look beautiful."

She blushed and sucked her head.

"Thank you Harry," she said shyly, accepting his hand to steady herself as she walked down the stairs in her heels, "You look rather dashing yourself."

"I have three of these penguin costumes," he said wryly, tugging on his tuxedo jacket sleeves, "Each of them more uncomfortable than the last."

Harry was not the only one who thought that Ruth looked lovely. As soon as they stepped into the reception room at the embassy, Zaf's voice came over the comm.

"Tango two, you look beautiful."

Ruth's little smile of contentment was so endearing that Harry only realised afterwards that he had not even thought of telling the lad off for misusing the comm.

That evening, Harry was Marcus Ramsay CBE; IT tycoon, devout Catholic and family man. Ruth was his loving wife Elizabeth, mother to their four children and patron of several Christian aid charities. It was no hard thing to stay close to Ruth, to link his arm with hers and lean in close to share a moment or a private joke. He spent most of the time, time not interacting with the target, with a lump in his throat and an elevated heart rate. Zaf, posing as a waiter, gave him several odd looks and seemed to be on the verge of saying something. He didn't, in the end.

The target, Roman Sirko, was a Ukrainian business man suspected of links with arms dealers in the UK, and after their initial introduction he often sought them out for their company.

"Marcus, Elizabeth, come and sit with us," he said, dragging them over to the table he was sharing with his wife, "It is hard to find a god-fearing man in this country and even more so a Catholic one. I think we shall be friends, no?"

Sirko was only a slight man but his personality more than made up for what he lacked in size. His English was impeccable and his appearance even more so. His wife, Maria, was equally well turned out, although she said little. Harry got the impression that she was used to letting her husband do the talking. Ruth must have sensed it too, because she made sure to stay quiet as well. If Roman Sirko liked his women silent, a silent woman would be what he got. For someone who rarely got out into the field, Ruth had a knack for understanding people.

"And how did you meet, the two of you?" Sirko asked eventually, after three or four whiskies, "You are a lovely couple, are they not, Maria?"

"They are," she smiled softly, her accent stronger than her husband's, "Do tell us."

"At church," Harry eased into the cover-story that Malcolm had come up with, "Through a mutual friend's child's confirmation. I looked at Elizabeth and I just knew I would marry her. You took some convincing though, didn't you, darling?"

"I wouldn't call it convincing," Ruth smiled, sounding even to Harry's knowing ears like she was re-hashing a much discussed subject, "But you are older than me, Marky, I needed to be sure we wanted the same things."

The pet name was something unexpected and for a second Harry was struck dumb by how convincing she was, by how much honesty seemed to seep from her words, and for a moment he was not sure that she was talking about the cover anymore. Ruth looked at him carefully and squeezed his hand, which was resting on the table next to her. Luckily, Sirko filled the silence.

"How wonderful," he said, "I too met Maria at a church…"

The cover was a perfect one. The trust established would be priceless. Adam was right – being closer to Sirko in age really had helped.

The air-conditioning in the embassy had been most welcome on the humid, muggy evening and, when they eventually stepped outside to wait for the car, Harry was almost knocked over by the closeness of the heat. Before he could move, Ruth had stepped forwards and unknotted his bow tie, hooking his top button undone, and suddenly the warmth of the weather seemed a small thing in comparison to the warmth seeping through him from that spot where her fingers had brushed his neck.

"You looked a little bit shocked," she smiled, "I didn't want you to pass out. Take off your jacket."

He did as he was told, and then the car pulled up and he opened the door for her before the driver could even get out.

"Good job everyone," Adam's voice crackled over the comm, Ros' voice just audible in the background as a low rumble, "Tango one and two are safely away. Alpha two, make your excuses and come home. Sleep well and see you all in the morning."

"Understood," Zaf answered cheerfully.

"Yes, well done all," Harry echoed, "Good job."

He plucked his mike from under his lapel and pulled out his earbud, shoving them into his pocket. Ruth removed hers and he held out his hand to take them, stowing them safely in the same pocket.

Finally, they were alone.

"I think that went well," she said, "He certainly seemed taken with you, anyway."

"With Marcus Ramsay, yes. I never have to pretend more than when I am forced to sing the praises of our Lord and Saviour. And I prefer my female companions to have their own voices."

She looked at him for a moment and seemed about to say something, but then there was a crack of thunder and the rain began to fall. She sighed with relief and settled back in her seat.

"Thank goodness."

"Malcolm might be more himself tomorrow," Harry grinned.

"Hopefully. He's unnerving when he is in a bad mood. I'm not sure how much longer Colin will be willing to be the go-between."

"You can talk to him too, at a push. You'll have to take over."

"Malcolm, of all people," she laughed, "Sometimes you just never see it coming. You think you know someone."

They sat in comfortable silence for a little while, Harry watching the rain pounding against his window. The thunder and lightning came often and loudly. It was a proper storm, one that London hadn't seen the like of in years, he would bet. The thought of tomorrow's freshness filled him with a rarely experienced optimism, although the fact that Ruth was beside him now might also have had something to do with that.

She was still reclined in her seat, head turned to watch the storm bring London back to life. In profile, she really was stunning, especially when she was relaxed like this. He rarely saw her like this and he drank in the sight greedily; if looking was all he could do, at least for now, then he would damn well look.

They pulled up at her door all too soon, but she seemed in no hurry to get out and neither was he keen to eject her.

"It's silly, I know, to not want to be in the rain now," she said, "But I do love watching it. And I'm comfortable here, for a minute.

Harry glanced at the privacy panel that separated them from the driver and shrugged, "For all Jack knows, we are still talking shop back here. He won't mind waiting."

"And you don't? Mind, I mean."

_I've never minded anything less, an extra few minutes with you._

"I don't. I can almost convince myself it's autumn out there. I like autumn."

Ruth smiled, and her hand fell between them, brushing against Harry's own. He longed to reach out and take it, to try and tell her something of what he was feeling, but he was not sure that he knew himself.

He had no idea.

It was terrifying.

He contemplated – agonised – for so long that the rain began to ease. He didn't notice; he was entertaining a sudden and wild fantasy that he might throw caution to the wind and simply reach out and kiss her, just to see what she might do.

_Perhaps he would. Perhaps that was exactly – _

And the rain had stopped and Ruth was gone quickly, excusing herself, spooked no doubt by his sudden and intense silence. He watched her hurry to the door and hesitate, turning around to wave before she let herself in and was gone.

He cursed himself, cursed his indecisiveness, cursed the rain, cursed it's stopping. If she had lingered for just a moment more, he knew, he would have done it. He would have kissed her and damn the consequences.

And now he would probably never know. The moment had gone, the time had passed, and Harry Pearce was once more alone.

_-o-o-o-_

_She wore a 'terra-cotta' dress,__  
__And we stayed, because of the pelting storm,__  
__Within the hansom's dry recess,__  
__Though the horse had stopped; yea, motionless__  
__We sat on, snug and warm.___

_Then the downpour ceased, to my sharp sad pain,__  
__And the glass that had screened our forms before__  
__Flew up, and out she sprang to her door:__  
__I should have kissed her if the rain__  
__Had lasted a minute more._

_**Thomas Hardy**_

_-o-o-o-_


End file.
